


It's Going To Be A Scorcher

by ForevermoreNevermore



Category: Almost Human
Genre: Bounty Hunters, Established Relationship, M/M, Motorcycles, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 03:56:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1181587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForevermoreNevermore/pseuds/ForevermoreNevermore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's hot and there's dust, but they've got each other and a few good bounties to pick up, so Dorian supposes they're doing okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Going To Be A Scorcher

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a weird thing that's actually sort of inspired by Borderlands? Like that was the kind of attitude I was going for. I failed... but that's what I tried for. And it's also not really that violent, but I didn't want anyone to get upset or anything. Better safe than sorry and all that! Thank you for stopping by and I hope you enjoy it! And if you wanna come say hi or something my tumblr is [here](http://smacknbones.tumblr.com)

"AND IT LOOKS LIKE TODAY'S GOING TO BE ANOTHER-"

"Scorcher." John slams his arm down across the old analog radio, the meat of his forearm pressing all of the buttons instead of just the 'off' and making the time reset. He slides it off indolently until it fell into the sand and he could pull it back up to his face and lay it over his eyes. He's glistening with sweat that's picked up half of the damn desert, and the dirts rolled into small lines that outline against his skin like lines in a comic. Dorian knows that later it'll stamp against his skin. 

"What's the point of having a bed if you're just going to keep falling asleep in the lawn chain?" Dorian asked, closing the door on their trailer.

John didn't move his arm, but he did swat his other one ineffectually in the air. It josteled his halfway unbuttoned shirt (it used to be white). "You could've woken me up." 

"You would've complained the whole way in, and even if you are going to complain the whole day because your back's sore," Dorian watched as John shifted and cracked his neck, "I'm more of an instant gratification kind of guy." 

John's shoulders shake. "Don't I know it." 

"Oh, you're one to talk. C'mon get up, we've got shit to do." The wind's picking up just enough that Dorian has to squint against the sand. John curses and grumbles his way out of the relatively low chair only to find that he'd taken his shoes off last night. Well, Dorian had anyway.

"Oh..." John says, then glares up at him. "You know, some things just aren't kosher."

Dorian shrugs and goes back into the trailer. "Don't sleep outside." It's really worth the glares when John sort of hops his way into the trailer, his small quick steps his best bet at avoiding the quickly heating sand. In passing, he heard part of John's diatribe. 

"-Now there's going to be sand in my toes."

"You've had sand in your toes for five years, don't even go there you big baby." 

John closes the door just a tad harder than necessary. The effect is lost when the screen gets caught instead of the actual door, and the heavy metal thing slowly opens again to reveal John glaring. Just absolutely glaring. Dorian pinches a laugh in, raises his hands in surrender, and sneaks away. 

___________

There are black boots up on the counter when they push their way into the crowded store. John steps on some poor tabby cat's tail, and yowls it's way to the other side of the store, occasionally shooting back nasty stares at them.

"Don't step on Liesel." Comes the voice attached to the black boots.

"Don't let Liesel sleep in the doorway." John shoots back as he makes his way over to the counter. "You got any bolts."

Valerie bends down the corner of her magazine, three years old, and pops her gum. She cranes her neck so that she can get a better look at the cluttered organization behind her, the small plastic drawers with tidy little drawers. She loops her finger in the handle of a drawer labeled 'hexagons', and pulls it out.

It's a strange organization system, but Dorian's never questioned it. The store only sold six things, for shit's sake. Tang, watermelon seeds, shovels, cheese, socks, and spark plugs. They never actually got shipments of cheese in, but Dorian liked to give her the benefit of the doubt. Everything else, all of the huge chunks of metal and ruddy chains hanging from the ceiling, the guns hung behind the counter and the knives drove hilt-deep into the wall, all of these things Valerie had found in the rocks and the dirt. She kept what she could and scrapped the rest, divvying up the small odds and ends amongst the drawers behind her. Screws with the sticks, bullets with the cylinders. 

They'd once asked about getting robbed, and as an answer John had been pinned to the counter with a knife through his sleeve. And she'd smiled, all cute and sweet because it really didn't look like Valerie lived in the violent Caradine Outlands. Her hair was always shining and her clothes were always clean. She smiled, and she said, "I don't get a lot of business out here. And what little I do don't usually tell people where they're going." 

Valerie placed the little drawer on the counter and raked a finger through it.

"I've got five," they clinked when she put them on the off-white linoleum. John grunts and sort through them, gently sliding away the two smallest. 

"I'll take these three." Valerie gave a little laugh as she picked up the drawer again. 

"You mean they actually fit what you need them to?" She looked to be doing some sort of mental math, before she wrote down something on a pad of paper. She ripped off the bottom. "One nineteen." 

"Well, not really. But I figured I could make them fit." John grunts and swipes the little pieces of metal into his pocket. Then he drops the money in Valerie's hand.

"Oh yeah, I've got something for you," she says before slipping back by the fax machine. It's old and crusted with the strange yellow grime that has a habit of covering electronics as they age. She gives it a little sweet talk, and if pops out a piece of paper, screaming and cawing the whole way.

"You ever thought of getting a new one?" Dorian asked, wincing at the sounds. Valerie shook her head. She holds the paper gingerly between two fingers and wrinkles her nose.

"You know I've always hated the feeling of hot ink. And it still works, doesn't it?" Dorian doesn't say barely, and John doesn't snort, so they make it out of the conversation in one piece. "Fresh from the presses, from the heart of Maldondo to the something of John."

"Hey, I've got a heart," John says somewhat petulantly as he slides the paper from her grasp, purposefully slowly. She shudders and snatches her hand away.

"No, I think not."

Dorian leans in over John's shoulder to look at the paper. "That's why I'm half of this partnership. Someone's gotta make sure he stays in check." John shifts his shoulder so it hits Dorian lightly on the chin, but doesn't comment. 

"Lassie?" Dorian doesn't have to look to know the one-sided little smirk that's on John's face, it's as evident in his voice. "Who the fuck kills people with the name Lassie?"

Valerie shrugs, "I don't know if my name was Lassie..." 

"Yeah, but," John thumps the paper as he digs for the word, "isn't it, sacrilege, or something?"

"Your loyalty to fictional dogs is really quite astounding." Dorian laughs. 

"Man's best friends with benefits." Valerie pulls a face and John's turns red. "Like, I don't have to feed them. Jesus, Valerie," she nods like she doesn't believe him, slow and vaguely patronizing; her specialty.

"It's a good thing you're with Dorian or you'd be alone forever," Valerie flips through her magazine and stops idly on a crossword puzzle that's been done into submission. She'd eventually started scratching her own letters over the old ones. Dorian caught the word 'H Y P O C H O N D R I A C' before she turned the page, scribbled out catty-corner. 

"Why does everyone think I have no class? I had to do something to land him," John jerks a thumb at Dorian, and it's Dorian's turn to feel vaguely insulted.

"Yeah, I'm thinking it's time for me to feel a bit insulted." Valerie waves at him and rolls her eyes. 

"Oh, you know I'm just picking. Now, go throw Lassie down a well." 

John shakes his head and leaves the store, muttering under his breath 'sacriledge'.

____________

Lassie was not the most attractive person they'd ever caught, but he had the biggest reputation. And the biggest jaw. And the longest tongue, he kind of looked like an Earthworm Jim character. The picture didn't do him justice at all. 

Dorian had seen the ugly bastard from afar at one point. He'd been waiting on John to get information from a bar, because John was only a people person to people he didn't know (still got kicked out). There was another bar right across the road, with about seventeen bikes parked and leaning out in front. The dull roar that had radiated from the place every time someone left gradually grew worse, until a man with what looked like an unattached tongue came stumbling out, shouting up into the sky.

"MOMMA IT'S RAININ' PUCE!" His tongue lolled out and thwapped all the way down to his Adam's apple. John poked his head out of the bar so fast it looked like he'd been punched there.

"What the-" And then a flood of biker's followed him out grappling one of the local aliens. He chittered and attempted to scramble away, only to have Lassie grab him and whirl him to the front. Lassie fell to his knees in the dirt, whipped out a shotgun, placed it to the alien's chest, and shot. 

Dorian blinked when the puce blood landed on his face, blinked again when John set out a long stream of curses, and blinked a third time when Lassie rocked back onto his feet, kicked at his motorcycle, and drove off wildly into the distance.

"What the fuck was that?"

John threw his bag down and it kicked up dust. "His ugly mug will look much better with a hole in it," he thwapped at the paper like he was already admiring his work. Dorian shifts his weight. They're on a rock formation jutting up out of the uneven ground of the Outerlands. It's tall, and Dorian feels vaguely uncomfortable. 

John flops down on the dirt and wiggles his butt in the air until he's on the edge. Blindly, he reaches a hand back for the bag. It's just out of reach.

"You know you can't actually shoot him, right? We're just the bounty hunters." Dorian gently tugs the bag out of the way when John gives a half-assed lunge for it and lands on his face. In the small, resulting puff of dust, John grumbles into the ground. Dorian knows it's probably the usual; fuck this salty-sand encrusted cat ass land, fuck the glowing molten ball of piss, fuck this, and fuck that, and fuck that thing hiding behind the other thing. 

Finally John gets his face off of the ground. "I know I can't shoot them, but I sure as hell can pretend-" a rumbling cuts off his diatribe, and they turn in sync to see a single motorcycle thundering it's way directly at them. Everyone knows that Lassie's got a hideout somewhere in the Outlands, but what everyone doesn't know is the problem. Where.

John wrangles a smoke bomb out of the duffel bag. "That's a lotta noise for one bike." But they both know it isn't one bike. Over the horizon, an ant-hill sized horde of bikes came crawling. They were a motley of colors, as distinguished and different as the riders on them. Dorian glances at the dust bomb, then to John's disturbed face, and back to the smoke bomb.

"You know one's not-"

"Shut up."

They roar nearer.

"So what do you wanna do?"

"I don't know, I'm thinking."

"Well you might wanna think faster because-"

Lassie speeds past so fast the dust cloud hits even them in the face.

"Well, at least there's a good fifty-"

They thrum by like a hive of bees.

"Okay, you could've just dropped at least that one on them. It would've been better than," Dorian gestures at the cloud of dust, "that." John lets out a high pitched little keen and wriggles back into standing position.

They make eye contact. "I think we should call for backup." John stands on tiptoes so that he can peer over Dorian's shoulder at the bike gang. He looks like he's regretting every decision he's ever made in life. There's a line of dust from his hairline all the way to the bottom of his jawline. 

"Oh, Paul is just going to _love_ this." John mutters as he's dialing the phone. Dorian hefts the duffel bag over his shoulder and they begin to jog after the gang. They've been there long enough to know the ins and outs, and the one particular turn they took was taking them absolutely nowhere. 

"Maybe he won't be there. Maybe he's out working a case. Cuz, you know, it is his job." John huffs, but it might've just been from the running.

"Hello? This is John Kennex from the Outlands, and I need-" there's a pause. "Oh for fucking flora's sake, Paul, get Maldonado on the line." But Dorian catches him out of the corner of his eye, grinning, because he and Paul love their little game way too much. He can hear Paul now, rattling off a long stream of insults as short and snappy as he is. He can hear John snort, but only caught 'the ass end of a camel'. He imagines it's pretty well filled in around that. 

"Yeah, yeah, we all know you can go up to bat with the best of them, you're the best in the precinct-" an unspoken 'because we're not there' hangs in the air for a second. "But I'm kinda on a time leash here. We got Lassie." Dorian hears something like a crash on the other side of the phone, but he ignores it because the bikes are no longer running.

"Uh, yeah, hi. We don't actually _have_ Lassie yet, but we're cornering him. And the whole gangs there. We're gonna need some back-up or something." Dorian swings around a corner, only to jerk right back from where he came from and snap a hand over John's mouth. The phone falls into the sand and John gives him a weird look.

Dorian jerks his head in the direction, and mouthes the word 'Lassie'. John nods, and swats at Dorian's hand until he moves it.

"You couldn't have had a bit more-" John waves his hand to encompass his meaning, then bends over for his phone. "Yeah, sorry 'bout that. We found him, follow the gps on my phone. Gotta go." He listens for a few more seconds before gently closing his phone. Then he hunkers over next to Dorian and peers around the corner.

The bikes are all stopped near the drop-off, which seems pretty dumb. The gang's cackling and shooting at flies in the air and generally making a mess of things. He hears John 'tsk' beside him.

"They're a mess."

"They're a group of motorcycle-riding murderers in a lawless desert guarded by a man and an android and a genetically perfect storekeeper. I think this is par for the course."

John tsks again. 

"Do you think we should do something before Maldonado gets here?" John asks. The group doesn't seem to be heading anywhere, so it's likely that this isn't their hideout. Just a place. A pretty fucking random place, but like he said earlier. Par for the course. 

"What does it matter what I think? You're going to do something anyway? You're not even here to listen to me." Dorian turns an expectant eye towards where John had been- yup.

John's already sneaking around the giant rock outcropping they're hiding behind. Decidedly not listening to him. Dorian glances back at the where the gang had trapped themselves. It's rounded, with tall rock walls on both sides, an opening where they came in and a hundred feet drop to sheer dusty rock at their backs. Curious, he tracks the line of the rock he's hiding behind and finds that there is a small gap between it and the drop-off. It looks to be about three feet.

Oh that dipshit.

Dorian rushes to catch John before he makes an pancake of himself over the Outlands floor. Dorian catches him by the arm just as he's taken a giant puff of air and flattened himself to the wall. John tries not to look surprised, but the strangled squawk he lets out betrays that.

"Are you fucking screw? You can't walk a straight line when you're sober and you wanna try this?" Dorian hisses at him. Can't for the life of him figure out why John looks like he's trying to smother laughter.

"Did you just call me a screw?" John's obviously trying to retain some level of maturity, but he's failing miserably. Dorian just frowns, because if he doesn't frown he'll probably laugh and lose all of his highground in this. John shakes his head like he's trying to clear it. "Okay, what do you suggest we do?"

"I'll go on the ledge, and when I get over there-"

"Oh, like I'll be any better off than you if you fell?"

"I've got better balance than you. Plus, I actually have a plan." Dorian reaches a hand into the duffel bag and pulls out a chain. It's heavy in his hand. "What do you think will happen if we throw their bikes over the edge?"

John doesn't even have to think about it before he gives a single, long 'ha'. 

"So how are you going to do that? Domino them in?" Dorian nods, and chances a glance over the edge. It really is a long drop, and his stomach gives an experimental drop.

"Yeah. I figured I could tie them together, and push enough over that they'd all go over." 

John sobers for a moment. "Okay, well this can go one of two ways. They can get really, royally pissed off. Or a couple can drop and cry. And what if they notice you before you get done?"

Dorian shrugs. "You can be pretty distracting, man. I'm sure you'll think of something. Just- ah, just think of it this way. If you fail, and I get drawn and quartered, Paul's going to move out here to be your partner. No one trusts you enough on your own." John looks distraught. Dorian drops the duffel bag at his partner's feet.

"You know, contrary to popular belief I like you more than I dislike Paul. And, it's more of a work rivalry if anything. But I still like you more." Dorian tucks himself close to the wall and winks before he steps out onto the ledge. A few rocks drop.

"Then don't fuck up."

___________

Don't fuck up. Don't fuck up. 

_Don't fuck up_ he says. That's what Dorian always says. John hunches down and watches the gang messing around. No one's died yet, but Maldonado also hasn't showed up and she has an interesting way of bringing out the worst in criminals. But not like John does.

He prides himself in that.

John's watching for Dorian when he finally pokes his head around the side of the giant rock. His eyes are wide and he looks a bit terrified, but he's in one piece. All's well as Dorian sneaks up to the bikes and pulls the chain from off of his shoulder and sets to work.

The whole plans sort of ridiculous, but John supposes that's the point of the Outlands. It's sorta weird, sorta flat, and sorta not. But it all works. Barely. 

His thoughts are fluttering off into the horizon when he notices the screaming of the gang has died down. And they're all looking at something. That something turns out to be Dorian, who is frozen and staring at them right back. There's a long tail of chain in his hands and John notices that all of the bikes save for one have been connected.

"What the hell you think you're doing?" Lassie moves to the front of the crowd. John reaches frantically inside of the bag for a smoke bomb, but his hands only seem to slip past the smooth coverings of literally every other weapon they own. He curses, and casts a glance up to see that they're still in a stand-off of sorts. Then Dorian acts in a flash the second John's hand grasps tightly onto the round grenade.

"Catch." Dorian says, throwing the tail of the chain out for the gang members to catch. It falls just short of the group, and Lassie's tongue is lolling strangely.

"What? Why? You wanna jump rope, blue eyes?" Dorian smiles that wide, bright ass smile of his, and literally _picks up_ the nearest motorcycle to throw it off the edge. It gets enough momentum that it begins to pull the others down with it.

John grabs the pin in his teeth and chunks the grenade as far as he can. He catches five members grabbing onto the chain, but not fast enough or heavy enough.

They fly off after the bikes.

The bomb explodes in a hot pink mess, hissing steam and smoke up into the air. For a moment, John is content, but then he remembers that the smoke bombs are an acid green color. Pink was something else entirely.

The first mournful wail to rise out of the dust cloud nearly sends John into a fit of hysterics. It's fucking tear gas. And it's f u c k i n g amplifying what they were feeling. He catches Dorian puff out of the cloud, unaffected, with a rueful smirk on his face.

"Did you do that on purpose?" 

"No. Not really." Dorian smiles at him anyway, and it is pretty great. The wailing is loud and John presses a hand to his side when his restrained laughter threatens to give him a stitch. Dorian's having no such problems, and he's smiling wide and laughing loud.

"Maybe we won't actually have to shoot any of them," Dorian says hopefully. His expression flicks to cautious and he glances off into the distance. John bites the skin on the side of his jaw.

"What is it?"

"More bikes." Dorian says. John mentally runs though his mind how far away the precinct is.

"It should be Maldonado and backup." Lights dance on the side of Dorian's face for a few moments before he relaxes and his shoulders droop. 

"Yeah." And just in time, because sixteen smooth black bikes squeal around a rock outcropping and into view. John can immediately pick his boss out, and right beside her is Paul. 

They kick up a helluva lot of dust, and John sputters and hacks into his arm.

"Gee, thanks." He says dryly. Maldonado takes her helmet off and regards him wearily.

"Oh I'm sure a little dust is nothing compared to the mountains of paperwork you've given me." Then she catches the cloud of pink still hovering over in the distance. The gang's still wailing like intergalactic alley cats. "What the hell did you do?" But she sounds more resigned than angry, which is a plus considering.

"Well, it was actually ingenious-" John eyes Dorian and dares him to say any different. "Dorian knocked their bikes off the ledge, then I threw a tear gas bomb at them and they just kinda sat down oh would you stop laughing?" John shoots Paul a sharp glare, but the shorter man is unfazed by this. 

"You brought down Lassie by making him cry?" Paul laughed, but it looks like he's caught between mocking and awe. "That's really all it took?"

"All it took? We could've died!" 

Dorian cuts between the two of them. "Don't you think we should do something about them?"

"Dorian's right," Maldonado snaps her fingers and gestures at the bike gang. "Round them up." Her officers scurry off to do as they are bid, and John leans against the rock wall behind him. 

"You know, this could warrant a promotion," John says languidly, nudging at Dorian lightly. 

"Yeah, but then who's going to help Valerie tear apart all of those motorcycles that you threw off a cliff? That's a lot of little, itty bitty nuts and bolts. Rudy's going to have a field day with all the new tech." And Maldonado makes her way over to examine the arrest. 

Dorian's awfully quiet beside him. "You know-"

John cuts in, "you and your bright ideas. We're going to be combing through broken motorcycles for a year."

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Dorian turn to give him a look, but then he turns right back to watch Lassie's arrest. 

"You make, like, ten times as many bad plans as I do. I'm allowed to have one. Or two."


End file.
